


Etiquette

by AnnetheCatDetective



Series: Nightmares and Dreamscapes [2]
Category: Transylvania 6-5000 (1985)
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Porn Watching, Public Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: For Oli, who read Dream Man and quite rightly said they SHOULD have watched porn together, a What If scene in which they do.
Relationships: Jack Harrison/Gil Turner
Series: Nightmares and Dreamscapes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802674
Kudos: 6
Collections: Jeff Goldblum Cinematic Universe (JGCU)





	Etiquette

**Author's Note:**

> Not really canon to this 'verse but sticking it here anyway because it's a What If off of Dream Man.

“Sorry, what is the etiquette of a porno theater, exactly?” Gil asks, just a little snappishly-- well, snappish for Gil, which is to say not very snappish at all, really. 

“The etiquette of a porno theater?”

“Well I’ve never been to one before. Are there dos and don’ts to this thing?”

“I mean you don’t look at the other patrons and if at all possible you don’t leave a mess for the ushers.” Jack shrugs. “You just… I mean, you watch it, you enjoy it, you… finish the experience later in private, while… recalling things.”

“Is that what you’ve done?”

“Not… not really? But I mean, that’s what people do.”

“How do you _know_ this?”

“I just, I don’t know, it’s one of those things you pick up.” He shrugs again, looking around. “Should we just go in? Maybe the others just went in. I’m not waiting out on the street for those guys.”

He ushers Gil in, smiling over the way he tries not to touch anything. If he could hover an inch off the ground, he probably would. It’s… cute, how he is. He’s so fussy about the funniest things, and then there are things someone else might be fussy about and Gil isn’t, not at all. 

Gil doesn’t leave a buffer seat, when they go in. He could tell him to. He could tell him he needs to move down, that it’s a rule, that it’s part of the etiquette of the porno theater, and Gil would. He probably should tell him to move down. He doesn’t.

The movie isn’t exactly captivating. He knows it’s made to be, he knows most people in his position would be captivated-- that position being someone who’s willingly bought a ticket at a porno theater and sat down to watch the entertainment within. It’s just a little uncomfortable, when every time he thinks he could feel something, there’s a pair of tits bouncing into view and he loses it. And they never cast the men in these things for their looks. Not that there isn’t a guilty little thrill anyway, at seeing a man naked and erect, it’s just that it isn’t only men. It’s girls with glossed lips and smudged eyeshadow and teased-out hair and perky naked breasts and...

And he doesn’t like the _sounds_ women make. 

But it’s not like he’s not used to lying about this. All he has to do is sit through the thing and pretend he enjoyed it. Couldn’t he… couldn’t he convince himself to enjoy it? Eventually he’s going to have to, he’s going to have to actually go through with it. He tries to imagine not hating it-- maybe he wouldn’t hate it. It would still feel good, physically, wouldn’t it? He’d… he wouldn’t have to hate it. He could close his eyes and get through it.

There’s a blowjob happening on a thirty-foot tall screen and trying to put himself in the man’s shoes leaves him cold. Trying to imagine himself in the woman’s place is too much, is too close to things he doesn’t let himself think about.

Gil shifts next to him, elbow coming to rest against his.

“I’m not sure about the plot of this thing.” He whispers. 

“Gil, you’re not supposed to talk during the-- this.”

“I mean it’s not like there’s any dialogue I’m talking over. Do you think she really enjoys doing that or is it all acting?”

“I-- I don’t know.”

“I’ve never done it before. I mean maybe it’s-- I mean, I’m sure I’d like it. But I don’t know if I’d be so _theatrical_ about it.”

“Gil, be quiet.”

“Okay, Jack.”

He doesn’t mean to picture Gil, but after what he’d said, he can’t seem to stop. The actor on-screen isn’t cute the way Gil is, hasn’t quite got his figure, isn’t tall enough, but… but the camera’s pushed in close enough that Jack can imagine. Imagine the flex of Gil’s hands on someone’s shoulders, someone’s mouth on him, and how his face would… 

It’s easier somehow to imagine Gil than to try and picture himself there, except for the part where he doesn’t like the thought of someone else touching him, not really. All fun and games seeing him squirm away from being flirted with, seeing his face go all pink, but he doesn’t like the thought of some woman, touching him-- sucking him.

No, he wants that for himself. 

He shouldn’t, but he does. 

Gil Turner fell into his life and Jack hasn’t been able to want anything else. He wants Gil back in his arms, all the time. Really in his arms, wants to hold him so close and so tight, and…

Get down on his knees and promise Gil it would be all right. He’s never done this before, either, but it’s all right. Promise he’s going to take care of him, such good care of him, wouldn’t he like that? Wouldn’t he like Jack to take good care of him? And Gil’s always so… amenable, always smiles the way he does whenever Jack does anything for him, and it’s intoxicating to be smiled at that way, to be allowed to do little things… And okay, so a blowjob isn’t the same as a cup of coffee, but still. Still, he’d promise to take good care of him, and Gil would duck his head and blush and smile, would say ‘okay, Jack’ the way he does, and Jack would… Jack would…

It’s too much to think about and he knows he hasn’t got any right, but to be able to touch him like that, to hear any little grunts and groans. To know the taste of his skin.

He’s never wanted any of the things he should want the way he wants Gil. Sometimes after long hours spent together, when they’ve been gravitating to each other all day, when it feels like there’s no one but the two of them, sometimes he finds himself needing…

He locks himself in the bathroom and tries to empty his thoughts completely and hopes the running shower covers what sounds he can’t help making. Tries to make it just a physical thing, with no mental images, no imaginary narrative, no stray thoughts of Gil and the sound of his laugh when it’s soft and breathy and shy sometimes, or the way he looks sucking whipped cream off of his upper lip, hands dwarfing the cardboard cup containing his cocoa, or how pink his cheeks get walking outside, or how bright his eyes are when he’s excited… or how he goes unselfconsciously sweet at the end of a too-long study session when he’s sleepy, and he lays his head on Jack’s shoulder like that’s just something they’re allowed, and if he can do that, then Jack can put an arm around him, and he just has to not think about any of that in the shower with his dick in his hand.

He tries to focus. He looks at the screen and tries to tell himself he would like it, if a woman did those things to him, that it would be arousing, that it would feel good, that he could… he could like normal things. He could stand over someone, a female someone, and not cringe or wilt, he could be as confident and competent in the bedroom as he is just socially, he could even have an okay time. 

He closes his eyes and he takes a breath, and he feels the warmth of Gil’s arm settled right against his. He can’t focus on anything else, his head swims. Gil’s close enough to touch, he imagines reaching over in the dark. Imagines that it could happen and they wouldn’t talk about it after, that he could just slide a hand into Gil’s lap, squeeze him a little and feel him grow harder. Gently shush the confused question and trace the shape of him… He’d say ‘Gil, honey, let me take care of you’ and Gil would say ‘Okay, Jack’, the way he always does, only his voice and his hips would stutter, his breathing would get heavier, he’d swallow hard. They wouldn’t look at each other. Jack would whisper to him to put his jacket over his lap, and he’d pull him out… spit in his palm and work Gil, right there in public, in the porno theater, which they could fucking get arrested for, but Gil wouldn’t stop him. 

Does he like it fast, a little rough? Or does he like a tease, to take his time? Gil’s fun to tease in general, Jack can only imagine how responsive he’d be to a hand on his cock, skin on skin, a little slicked up but not quite enough-- or would he start leaking, early on, a lot? Would he?

There are things he knows about Gil, and some of them he thinks he probably shouldn’t know, but he doesn’t know _that_. And he can’t… he can’t do that now. He just _aches_ to.

When he opens his eyes, there are two men on the screen, the girl kneeling between them, and he finds himself riveted in a way he never expected to be, breathless in anticipation of their touching, any accidental slip that might bring them together. In the close shot, he can imagine that their focus is less on the girl between them, more on each other. 

Would it be enough to be in the same room, to be close enough to touch? To be right there and to watch Gil’s face, to see someone else touch him and pretend he’s interested in some girl, that he isn’t just hungry for Gil’s pleasure and the flush that spreads across his skin and every little sound he’d make? He can imagine it far too well. There are things they’ve never done but he can imagine them so clearly it almost feels real. 

He could stand being touched by a woman, a woman with glossed lips and smudged eyeshadow and teased-out hair and perky breasts, if he wasn’t looking at her, if he was looking at Gil. Gil, uncertain and sweet and always so ready to follow him anywhere… He’d followed him here, he would follow him into… what, a threesome? Where Jack would pretend at some experience with women, some comfort or desire, all the while holding his breath in anticipation of touching Gil. Gil, who would only need a little gentle _coaxing_ to let go and enjoy himself. Gil, who would relax if Jack petted at his hair, his shoulder, like that was just a normal thing for two friends to do, have sex with the same girl and then touch each other. And he’d...

_Don’t be nervous, baby. No, I’ve never done this before, either. You trust me? It’s going to be all right, it’s going to feel so good. I’m right here, you know I’d never let anything happen to you, honey, I just want to see you feeling good…_

And Gil…

_Pink spreading all the way down his body, squirming and panting, eyes half-lidded and moaning out Jack’s name, not_ hers _, and holding onto Jack like he was anchoring himself by him, grabbing for Jack’s hand, and he’d be beautiful, he’d be helpless with it and he would be beautiful…_

On screen, the two men are both going for the girl’s mouth at once, their cocks rub together and Jack stifles a groan. When did he-- how did he-- get to be this hard? He’s sitting in a grubby porno theater, in a seat he _doesn’t_ want to think about, tits front and center on the thirty foot tall screen, this kind of arousal shouldn’t be _possible_ , but he’s so hard…

Maybe he can just adjust himself, discreetly. He uses his left hand, keeps his right arm totally still on the shared elbow rest, where Gil’s arm is still pressed up against his own, and that’s all he really needs and all he really wants, Gil pressed up against him. 

He’s not so much adjusting himself discreetly as he is fully just touching himself through his clothing. 

Next to Gil.

He can feel Gil shifting in his seat, has to resist the urge to look over at him, to see where his focus is, to see if he’s…

He doesn’t need to look, he just _knows_ , it hits him like a punch to the gut, he just _knows_ Gil is aroused. The arm of the seat between them creaks a little under his grip as he tries to resist temptation, Jack can hear the way his breath catches. And he should stop, but isn’t this what people _do_? Isn’t this what it’s supposed to be like, you touch yourself a little bit, just through your clothes, watching? You’re supposed to get turned on, that’s the whole function of a porno theater, you’re supposed to get hard, maybe you’re not supposed to get off because there are laws, but you’re supposed to get partway there.

“You know, it’s okay…” Jack turns, his voice a whisper. “If you want to--”

“If I want to?” Gil turns to face him, Gil wasn’t supposed to turn to face him, his eyes wide and dark and shining in the flickering light of the darkened theater, lips parted, and he’s…

“Gil, you--” Jack turns away. “Face _forward_.”

“You started it.” He hisses. “... What’s okay? If I want to?”

Jack groans. 

_It’s okay if you want to touch yourself_ , he doesn’t say, and he definitely doesn’t say _here, I’ll show you_ , and he definitely doesn’t touch Gil, beyond where their arms still rest together. But he presses the heel of his left hand down against himself and he’s not sure if he’s making things better or worse for himself.

Gil’s so close and so warm, Jack knows that he’s warm. That his hands would be and his body would be and his mouth would be, so warm and so soft and judging by the sound of his breathing, so hard.

He lets his eyes fall closed, as the action on screen shifts to something even less appealing, tries to focus only on the sound of male moans and grunts, and the little catches in Gil’s breath. Imagines pressing Gil against the door of the darkroom, undoing his collar so that he can suck at his neck. Pin his hands in place, nibble at him until he trembles and begs and rocks against him… he wants Gil to need him, to need things from him that he doesn’t want from anyone else. He wants to take care of him, give him things… and he can’t, they can’t, and if he were Gil he’d tell himself to take a fucking _hike_ , he hasn’t earned this, he can’t possibly ask him for this. 

Why does he always want the thing that’s going to hurt him? Why does he want, more than anything he’s ever wanted, the one thing that’s guaranteed to hurt Gil, who deserves the world and who has Jack instead, wanting all the wrong things and not knowing what he could possibly give.

Gil, rocking slightly in the seat next to Jack’s, hips shifting, and Jack can picture him all too clearly without turning to look, without opening his eyes, can see him squirm, tentative over touching himself, but so turned on. He hadn’t expected to be, either, he hadn’t thought it sounded very appealing just to watch, but something about the experience has got him going. The little whine in the back of his throat, barely voiced, and Jack _wants_ him, he can’t want any of the things he ever meant to the way he wants to hear that sound again. He wants to push Gil down and climb on top of him and tease that sound out of him, he wants to make him _come_. Lie to him and tell him everything’s all right, pretend everything is all right, just for a little while, and he could even believe it himself if he had Gil in bed, pliant and sweet.

He’s so sweet and he’s so _helpless_ sometimes, and it brings out all the best and the worst in him to see it. He’s greedy with Gil, he knows he is. He sees a golden boy he doesn’t want to share with the world and he needs to be needed and he knows he’s not being fair, but he’s helpless, too. He looks at Gil and he’s…

He’s close to coming in his pants, if he keeps it up, and he’s a little fuzzy on why it’s such a bad thing, he has just enough presence of mind to _stop_ , to readjust himself and then take his hand away. To look at the screen and try to come down, to step back from that ledge, to stop thinking about Gil like that. To let himself be put off by the movie they paid to watch, until his arousal is a little more bearable.

He could get up now, walk out. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable walk, but he _could_. He shifts to stand, moves to push off from the arm rest only for his hand to land on Gil’s, and there’s a shuddering gasp, an electric jolt that goes right through Jack when hears it.

He struggles to shake the feeling off, heads to the door on legs that don’t want to carry him. They both shuffle out of the theater holding their jackets awkwardly in front of them, he dares a look at Gil’s face lit by the thousands of lights out on the street, and even without the flashes of garish neon reds, he’d be about the same color. They don’t quite meet each other’s eyes.

It’s slightly too cold not to be wearing a jacket, and Jack tells himself it’s _bracing_ and probably a good thing. 

“Never done that before.” Gil mumbles. “Or done, well, _that_ , in public.”

Jack glances over at him again. “Did you like it?”

Gil gives a pointed glance down to where he’s holding his jacket. 

“Okay, yeah, but… I mean, did you really like it or just… you know.”

“Would I do it again, do you mean?”

Jack shrugs and looks down at their shoes as they walk. 

“I didn’t even see the others.” Gil says, instead of answering the question. His own question, Jack guesses, so it’s fair enough.

“No, I guess they blew us off.”

“I mean maybe I would, but not, you know.”

“But not?”

“Not the same kind of movie.”

“Gil Turner, if you tell me you’re into harder stuff than that…”

“You know what I’m into.” Embarrassment and mild rebuke color his words. “Not girls.”

“Oh.” Jack dares another look, imagines a world in which he could kiss away that soft frown. “We just won’t go, then. Next time, if-- if it came up. We don’t have to.”

“Sure.”

He settles on knocking their elbows gently together. “Gil?”

“Sure, I said.”

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”


End file.
